


the road goes away from here

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [179]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arthurian, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Drowning, Established Relationship, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Mutual Pining, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-26 16:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18286382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Arthur's sojourn in Avalon is interrupted by a visitor.





	the road goes away from here

**Author's Note:**

> **Content warning:** In the fic, it is implied/outright suggested that Merlin drowned himself intentionally in order to rejoin Arthur, although this is not what actually happened. Please proceed with caution if such content may be triggering for you.

 

Arthur presses his mouth against Merlin’s. _One, two, three, four, five, six…_

 

“Breathe,” he whispers, their foreheads touching, lake water dripping from his hair and cheeks onto Merlin’s grey-pale skin. Merlin’s head is tipped back, mouth slightly open, vacant eyes staring at the sky above Arthur’s head. “ _Breathe_.”

 

Merlin does not respond.

  

 

+

 

 

“He was not meant to come here.” Freya’s deep blue gown makes no sound as it trails over the grass. “It was not his time, and the gods have another fate in mind for him. He has no place in Avalon.”

 

Arthur closes his eyes, but finds he cannot contradict her. He can hear the lake birds singing; a low, melancholy song. His own ragged breaths are loud in the bubble of space he has preserved around Merlin’s body. “Why was he allowed to cross over, then?”

 

“His powers were very great. The magic was enough for this.”

 

“But not enough to save him?”

 

Her hand on his shoulder is a light touch; soft as thistledown. Sometimes he wonders whether she is even here at all, whether he isn’t hallucinating everything in some kind of fugue state. Time does not pass here the way it did when he was alive. He is still watching Merlin struggle across the lake—he is still lending Merlin his breath, a grotesque parody of a lover’s kiss—he is still bent, sobs choked off in his throat, over Merlin’s body.

 

“You must wait.”

 

 

+

 

 

Arthur waits.

 

Time

 

does

 

not

 

pass

 

here.

 

 

+

 

 

Merlin wakes when the sun is high, burning away the mist. Arthur is seated beside him with his knees curled up to his chest, looking out across the steel-grey water. The sky is clear, for once, and there are hints of summer in the air. Arthur does not know how long it has been.

 

“You’re an idiot,” he says—tries to say. Merlin is sitting up, coughing, gagging on lake water and then crawling on his hands and knees into Arthur’s lap, and Arthur wraps his arms around him, buries his face in Merlin’s hair. Shakes him. “Why did you do it?” he demands. “ _Why?_ ”

 

“Because,” Merlin is shaking, mouth still cold where it presses against Arthur’s ear, “I had to be with you. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

 

“They’re not very pleased with you.” Whoever _they_ are. “They think you should have waited.”

 

“I don’t care.” Merlin’s hands are in his hair, Merlin’s lips on his in a fierce kiss. “They don’t know what it was like.”

 

  
+

 

 

Time does not pass. The sky is a lemon yellow, fading into blue far overhead, like twilight. Once they had disposed of Arthur’s armour they'd decided against removing the rest of his clothes; Merlin had taken him into his mouth instead, something Arthur had never permitted him to do in Camelot. The difference between a servant and a king is negligible here: they are both dead, both lying by the shore of a lake that ought not to have existed. Here, Merlin on his knees between Arthur’s legs means nothing except a breaking thundercloud of pleasure and Arthur’s hands, dug deep into the sandy earth, his cries spilling out and echoing over the water.

 

Afterwards, Arthur kisses the taste of himself out of Merlin’s mouth and strips him slowly, pressing him against the grass and teasing him until Merlin is breathless, until the rime of ice from the lake has melted from his body. Merlin’s nipples are pink, like new buds, his cock flushed and hard between his thighs. He doesn’t say anything—just looks, eyes dark as Arthur studies him. He raises a hand to Arthur’s face and Arthur kisses the palm.

 

“Don’t ever follow me again,” he says.

 

 

+

 

 

Here, they are always at the beginning of lovemaking, as well as at the end of it. Arthur trails his lips over Merlin’s nape, his hands along Merlin’s belly. Feels Merlin cave under him, curling around a laugh; feels him breathe and breathe.

 

“I haven’t missed you at all,” he says, because lying is what they do here, lying and pretending not to ache. “Without time, nothing means anything.”

 

“I missed you,” Merlin tells him. He doesn’t understand the rules yet, doesn’t know that the truth is deadlier than a knife. “I waited by the lake for _years_ , Arthur—”

 

Years and years. Arthur listens to him breathe, his ear against Merlin’s chest. Hears his ribs creak like the bands of a brass chest, holding something in.

 

“And then what?” he asks. When did it all become too much, when did Merlin decide that sinking was better than swimming? “You decided to drown yourself?”

 

“I saw your reflection in the water,” he says, voice soft. “I thought—if I could just get across—”

 

It’s a cruel trick, a cruel game they play here. All of this has been very cruel.

 

 

+

 

 

“ _Breathe_ ,” Arthur says. Merlin lies on the lake shore with his eyes closed, hands splayed upwards, cupping empty sky. “Breathe, damn you.”

 

 

+

 

 

Leon is the one who finds him. Arthur watches as he cradles Merlin in his arms, forces the water from his lungs. Merlin opens his eyes and stares up at him, confused at first, bitter devastation crossing his face as he gags and chokes and breathes and Leon weeps.

 

“You should not be here,” Freya had said, one implacable white hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “That you were granted this much is only because you are Emrys. We cannot grant you more.”

 

“I won’t leave.” Defiant, Merlin had cupped Arthur’s cheeks and kissed him, and Arthur’s fingers had dug into his flesh, already turning cold and damp again; Arthur’s lips had met with empty air.

 

Merlin does not weep. He looks back out over the lake, his eyes dry, dark curls drying against his cheeks, and blows a kiss out over the water. Arthur feels it, light as a caressing breeze, and knows it for the promise that it is—that it must be.

 

Merlin will not follow him again. Arthur has his word.


End file.
